Crush
by Sunset
Summary: What happens when you fall in love with the girl on the autopsy table? Nicks POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Crush**

Maybe it was my mood that day. Hell, if I'm honest about it, I'd been in the same mood for weeks. I'd been dreading that day, watching its approach on the calendar as I mentally crossed off each ending day, and the closer that date got, the more hostile I became, snapping at my co-workers, hollering at traffic. I almost beat the hell out of one suspect in the interrogation room. The interrogation room. He was a repugnant little man, and I'd found his seamen on and in a seventy-year-old victim who he'd tied up, raped and then stabbed her just under her right rib, leaving her to slowly bleed to death. What's more, I found a cigarette butt on the floor near her bedroom dresser, and the lab found both this assholes saliva and trace amounts of the victims, meaning he'd stood there smoking and watched her die. He was smug, even after I showed him the evidence against him, denying his presence in the victim's house, and when he started to deny the existence of DNA, not just his own, but the entire science of it, I stood up, quickly and forcefully, the scrapping sound my chair made against the tiled floor stopped his crap, and he looked up at me. His eyes turned from the arrogance they originally held to confusion and then quickly to fear when he saw the look in my own eyes. If Brass hadn't stepped in front of me, I might have ended up wearing handcuffs myself. Or in a padded cell.

As that day approached, the square boxes of the calendar slipping away, there were days that I thought I might be better off in a padded cell. This mood change has happened to me this time of year for the past four years, and last year, in a desperate attempt to figure out what the hell was going on with me, I bought several psychological self help books, and in one, found my answer. Sub-conscience anniversary. It wasn't until then that I realized what was bugging me. It's the anniversary of Kristy's murder.

Like I said, it was a mood. I wasn't just _in_ a mood, I was buried underneath it. I hadn't even made it into the lab yet, I was sitting in traffic when my pager went off, it's piercing beeps did nothing to help the throbbing headache I'd gotten up with after spending a sleepless night. Every time I'd closed my eyes in an attempt to sleep, images of Kristy floated before me, forcing my eyes wide open again. It was a long time until daybreak.

My field kit weighed heavy in my hand, the camera strap scrapped the back of my neck, and the camera itself thudded against my chest with each step I took. Somehow, I found all these things reassuring.

Vega was standing in the living room with his back toward the door when I walked through it and paused a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the comparative darkness of the indoors, a great contrast to the Nevada sun, still bright even as it set, as if it knew it had to compete with the neon lights Las Vegas is bathed in. Vega seemed intent in his study of the bookshelves that lined the wall opposite the front door.

"Hey." I said gently, knowing the last thing you want to do is startle an armed man when there's a dead body in the next room.

He turned quickly at my greeting and said: "Frogs."

I tucked my sunglasses into my vest pocket, underneath the white lettering that spelled out 'Forensics'. "What?"

"Frogs." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the bookcase he'd just been staring at. "She collected frogs." He turned again to the shelves. "Hell of a lot of them too."

I crossed the short entry way and came up behind him. He was right, intermingled with the books and photos, there was a hell of a lot of frogs displayed all over the shelves. And about half of them were wearing, of all things, crowns. "Huh." I said, not knowing what else to say. "Victims is female?" I changed the subject; just wanting to get on with it, get my mind on the crime scene and off of Kristy.

"Yeah." Vega answered me, all business again. He half turned and pointed down the hall. "Kelly Knight, age 34, she's in the bedroom."

I tightened my grip on my field kit and said, "Ok, lets go" before following him down the short hall. I looked around me as we went. My mom would call this a cottage, it was so small; the rooms seemed built on top of one another, but, as I glanced behind me taking another look at the living room, she'd made it cozy. And that's not exactly a word I use often, but it was the only word that fit.

Ahead of me, Vega gave me some of the details. "Neighbors called it in. Said the television was blaring all day, and when she didn't answer their knock, they called the police. Responding patrol car found a hide-a-key, let themselves in, and found her back here."

The bedroom was at the end of the hall and as we entered, I saw David, the lab's assistant coroner, standing next to and leaning over the bed. From my point of view it almost looked like the victims legs were growing out of David's right hip. He straightened and turned at the sound of our arrival in the room.

"Hey Nick." He said, almost smiling. Another thing you never want to do where there's a dead body nearby is smile.

I gave him a short nod in answer as I walked up next to him and looked down to the victim lying on the bed. Immediately I was struck by how pretty she was. I didn't see the bruising that had time to swell and discolor her skin before she died, I didn't see the red blotchy marks her killer had left on her throat. She wasn't beautiful, wasn't a Hollywood glamour puss, and I feel like a two year old pointing at a flower saying 'pretty, pretty', but that's what she was, pretty.

"COD; strangulation." David's voice snapped me out of my stupor and I blinked twice before meeting his eyes.

"Time of death?" I asked, trying to keep my focus, literal and mental, on him and his answer, but my gaze shifted back down to the girl on the bed.

"Two or three hours ago, that'd make it…" he paused and I guess he looked at his watch "One or two this afternoon."

"Fits with the neighbors story, they said the TV started blaring about noon." Vega answered from the foot of the bed.

I heard the wheels of the coroners cart rattling down the hall. I tried to move, but somehow felt frozen.

"Hey. Nick." Vega said. I tilted my head just slightly, letting him know I was listening. "You know this girl?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head. "No. Why?"

"You're staring at her is why. You trying to commit the scene to memory instead of taking photos?"

My frozen limbs suddenly thawed, and I was once again aware of the heaviness of the camera around my neck. I looked at Vega. "No. No, I was just…trying a new tactic." I lied and lifted the camera to my eye and began to take the crime scene photos.

Later, the body was gone, off to the coroner's office and the hands of Al Robbins. Vega was outside talking to the neighbors and I was alone in the house cottage.

I ran the UV light over the sheets of the bed, there wasn't any fluid there, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Chances that she wasn't raped before she was killed were better with the absence of body fluid. I took my time in the bedroom; found two hairs on the pillowcase that didn't match the length of Kelly's hair. I tweezed them up and slipped them into an evidence envelope. As I lifted the pillow, I caught a whiff of a familiar scent. Glancing around the room, I found the dresser behind me, and sitting on top of it, next to a jewelry box, was a bottle of White Diamonds. Smiling a little pleased somehow that I was right about the scent; I turned my attention back to the bed, and realized that when I'd picked up the pillow, I'd uncovered a smallish spiral bound book. Picking it up, I flipped through the handwritten pages. Her diary. I squinted, fighting the urge to sit down in the middle of the crime scene and read it right then and there. Instead, I slid it into it's own evidence envelope and placed it next to the envelope with the hairs, inside my field kit.

Walking back down the hall, I could hear Vega' voice drifting in from the front porch. "What kind of car was it?" He was still interviewing the neighbors. I made my way into the kitchen, pushing through a set of half doors that reminded me of saloon doors from a movie western, and some part of my mind expected to see a group of dusty cowboys sitting around a poker table, stubs of cigars sticking out of the corner of their mouths as they fingered their chips. What I did find was a brightly lit, very clean, normal looking kitchen.

I started with the trash, knowing that anyone trying to rid the house of traces of themselves would probably use this trashcan. What I found was a pizza box, three uneaten slices growing stale inside, propped up next to the can, and an empty bottle of Heineken lying at the top of the pile, about half way down. Lifting out the beer bottle, I dug around the rest of the garbage; finding only crumpled paper towels, a used paper plate, several unopened envelopes that looked like average junk mail and this morning's newspaper, in varying degrees of disarray.

I moved from the trash to the fridge. A half thawed T-bone steak sitting among the cartons of yogurt, a half-gallon jug of milk and the rest of the Heineken caught my eye. Beer and left over pizza for lunch, steak planned for dinner; a girl after my own heart. Without knowing why, I swallowed hard as I shut the fridge door.

"Hey Stokes?" Vega's voice stopped any introspection I might have had into the reasons for that swallow, or the heaviness that had grown in the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah." I called out. "Be right there." With a last glance around the kitchen, I switched off the light and pushed through those saloon doors back into the living room.

Vega was standing near the windows, reading from the small black book he jotted down notes in, flipping back and forth between two pages. I started across to him, but when I reached the shelves across from the front door, I stopped in mid step and turned, wanting to have another look, intrigued by the frogs, especially those wearing crowns.

My attention was instead drawn to a photo of the victim, standing between an older man and woman, who had to be her parents; her face was such an exact combination of the two of theirs. All three of them were dressed up, and Kelly's hair was piled up on top of her head in an elaborate style held by what had to be an entire can of hairspray, the kind of hairdo that looks good, until you try to run your fingers through it. She had her arms draped around her parents shoulders and they all smiled brightly, genuinely at the camera. I found myself wondering where they'd been, and if, when told of their daughter's death, that night, however long ago or recent, would be one of the memories they called to mind to comfort themselves in their grief.

"She was a pretty girl." Vega's voice came from just over my shoulder, and I jumped, startled that I'd lost myself so deep in this photograph that I didn't realize he'd moved up behind me.

"Yeah." I set the frame back where I'd found it, and cleared my throat. Vega was too good a cop not to have noticed my being startled, but he was also too cool a guy to mention it. I lifted my chin a little. "What'd the neighbors have to say?"

"They said she was a nice girl; always said hello, involved in Neighborhood Watch, baby sat for them a couple of times –their kids loved her-." He flipped the page in his notebook. "They also said she had a nasty ex-boyfriend, and the husband thinks he saw the guys car parked on the street earlier. Nothing he can testify to, just glanced it when he came out to mow the lawn, right after lunch, and when he came out from the garage, the car was gone." Vega looked up at me from his notes "He seems pretty sure it was the ex's car."

I nodded. "As good a place as any to start. You get a name?"

"Yeah," he said, just as the cell phone attached to his belt began to ring. He unclipped it and held it up, reading the caller id. "Harry Webber" he said to me as he pushed a button on the phone and brought it to his ear. "Detective Vega" he said into the mouthpiece.

Turning away, I began to inspect the shelves again. She liked to read, had a lot of books, mostly paperback detective stories. I wondered if her interest in them would have declined if she'd known she was destined to become the center of an investigation herself. Maybe it would have grown. Running my finger down the spines of the lined up books, a group of three caught my eye. They weren't dark blue or black covers with bright red writing that was supposed to look like blood that most murder mysteries seemed to have, these three were lighter in color. One, a grassy sort of green, it's title spelled out in a silvery, curvy font _The Torn of the Rose,_ several cracks ran up and down the spine, almost obscuring the lettering, a sign of a well read book. I ran my finger up the lettering, tracing the creases and pulled the book out from its place next to the others. Its cover depicted a drawing of a woman reclining against a long stuffed lounge chair, wearing a white gown. In her gloved hand, she held one red rose. My first thought was that it was a romance novel, until I saw the elves dancing in the corner. I flipped the book over and read the back. Fairy tales for adults? Opening the book, I glanced at the titles of the stories, where I found words like princess, troll, and tower. I could feel the bewilderment kneed my brow as my eyes narrowed, as if somehow a tighter focus would make it all clear to me. I pulled out the other two books from the group and found the same kind of thing. Each one of those books had been read several times as well, judging from the pleats on their spines.

"car matching the neighbors description." Vega's voice broke though my confusion.

I shook my head and looked up at him. "Sorry, what?"

"The vic's ex is the RO of a car matching the neighbors description." A small smile spread across his face, I was amusing him. I slipped the books back into their place on the shelf.

"Ok, uh. . ." I paused, looking at the books one more time, committing the titles to memory, wishing I had a good enough reason to take them with me. "Uh, you want me to go with you to interview him?"

"No." It sounded like he was suppressing a laugh. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I think you're better off at the lab."

I didn't know what was going on with me either. Victims can sometimes get under your skin, we've all had cases that effected us personally for one reason or another, but I'd never experienced anything as consuming as this. I thought about maybe talking it out with Warrick, but I couldn't even begin to think of where to start. At the lab, I dropped off the trace hairs I found on the pillow with Mia. Hodges was in there trying desperately to make some headroom with her, and for once, he didn't make a snide comment. Maybe there's something good coming out of my bad mood after all.

Headed to the morgue, I ran in to Doc Robbins in the hall. "Sorry, Nick. It's a busy night. I've got three bodies lined up before I can get to your vic."

"Kelly." I corrected him.

He stopped. "What?"

"Her name was Kelly."

He looked at me strangely for a moment. "I'll page you when I get to her."

I nodded and tightened my grip on my field kit, thinking about the diary inside it. Without another word, I turned and head back down the hall, toward the break room.

"Oh you did not." I heard Sara's voice ring out and echo down the hall. I glanced at my watch. It was after midnight, my shift had officially ended and theirs had begun, and I could tell from the light tone of Sara's voice they were still waiting for assignments.

"Did too." Greg answered. I arrived in the break room doorway to find them both sitting on the couch. Sara laughed, and I imagined she was picturing Greg doing whatever it was they were discussing. I wanted a quiet place to read the diary, and I wasn't going to get it here. I turned to leave but Sara saw me.

"Hey Nick." She smiled, and I took a moment to wonder how long it'd been since I'd seen her smile.

Greg turned and followed her line of sight. "Hey. Pulling a double?" he asked me.

"Yeah, I guess." I lifted the kit up a little. "Hey, um, is Catherine still here?" I asked, suddenly realizing her office, if empty, was the best place for me to get some privacy.

"No, she and Warrick wrapped up their burglary and took off at the stroke of midnight."

"Yeah, they made like Cinderella." Greg added, and I gave him half a smile, his fairy tale reference was a little to weird.

"Ok. I'm ah. . .going to set up in her office then." I turned and left, ignoring their puzzled looks.

A couple of weeks ago, Warrick and I hauled a couch into Catherine's office for her. It's on that couch that I sat down, yawning, the sleepless night and bizarre day was catching up with me. I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to rouse myself. After a moment, I looked down to the case at my feet. It was only a hunk of metal with a handle, but I found it antagonizing, and suddenly, instead of wanting the privacy I now had, I wished I had shown the book to Sara, asked her to go over it with me, an excuse, just to have someone else in the room besides me and Kelly's spirit. I sighed and opened the case.

_**Hey you **_

_**I feel silly, writing these letters to you, when I don't even know who you are. Suzette, my therapist, says that by writing to you like this, I'll be able to "comprehend my emotional needs" and "by expressing my deepest thoughts and fears" I'll be able to realize my hopes and find you. Personally, I think it's a bunch of crap, but what the hell, what's it gonna hurt?**_

_**Dearest Nicky,**_

_**Why did I have to die for you to find me?**_

My heart began to race, thudding so hard in my chest; I could actually hear it beeping. I woke up with a start, the beeping still assaulting my ears. It wasn't my heart, it was my pager. I grabbed the damn thing and shut it off without looking at the screen. Glancing down at the book, I looked for the entry addressed to me. It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't. I'd fallen asleep reading the first page. I shook my head to clear it, and grabbed the pager. Robbins was beginning Kelly's autopsy.

Doc Robbins was dictating when I pushed through the autopsy room's double doors. "Asphyxia due to strangulation." He looked up at the sound of my steps and gave me a short nod hello. "Multiple round reddish bruising around her throat." He said into the recorder and clicked it off.

"Strangulation." I stated flatly, staring at Kelly's face. A lock of hair had shifted during the jumbling from the cart onto the examine table, and laid across her forehead, over her closed eyes, the ends lying just atop of her lashes. I wanted desperately to reach up and sweep the hair away from her face.

"Um-hmm. And David's estimation of TOD was correct. One or two o'clock this afternoon." I only nodded, still staring at her inert face.

"Was she raped?" I asked over the lump in my throat.

"No signs of it, no bruising, no seminal fluid. In fact, no signs of sexual activity for at least a few months."

I pressed my lips together tightly, keeping the rush of relief inside me.

"Nick, do you know this girl?"

Why did I keep getting asked that? "No." I said a little more harshly that I'd intended.

I could feel him staring at me for a long moment before he said: "Go home. Get some rest." When I didn't move, he added, "That's an order. "

I don't know if he's technically able to give me orders, but I knew he was right. I'd learned from Catherine that rest and "fresh eyes" as she liked to say, were just as important as anything else in this job. "Yeah. Ok." I mumbled and reluctantly turned to the door, and home.


	2. Chapter 2

She was asleep when I walked into our bedroom. I set my wallet and keys down quietly on top of the dresser, not wanting to wake her. She woke up so easily now, used to sleep like a stone, like the dead, and I'd known she had been worried about that, worried she wouldn't wake up when Victoria needed her, and the baby had spent her first few weeks sleeping in a cradle next to our bed, until my wife realized she now woke at a pin drop and moved the baby into her own white and yellow room across the hall. It was into that room I walked next, not as worried about any noise that I made, my daughter had inherited her mothers pre-maternal knack for sleeping through anything. In her crib, she was laying on her back, her head rolled to one side. I placed my hand on her belly; the fabric of her light green sleeper soft on my palm and fingers that splayed across, lifted and fell with her breathing. As I watched her for a moment, her perfect baby mouth moved with two quick sucking motions; one of the great mysteries of the world is what a baby dreams about, I know what my baby dreams about; food. I pulled the tiny quilt up over Victoria and turned to leave. Reaching the doorway, I paused and turned again toward the crib, leaning myself against the jam, not yet ready to leave my daughter. My wife's arm snaked around my waist, her hand coming to rest right over my heart. She pulled herself up against me, her breasts pressing against my back. I loved it when she did that, and she knew it. Resting her chin on my shoulder she whispered "Hey you" softly into my ear. "Hey yourself." I took her hand in mine, her fingers were cold. "Did you get the bad guy?" She asked, her ritual, especially when I worked late. I hung my head, looking at our intertwined fingers, trying to remember if I had or not, not being able to remember what the hell I'd been working on all day and half the night. "You know darlin' I don't even remem. . ." I turned toward her as I spoke; wanting my arms around her, that always made everything better, needing her liquid brown eyes to sooth away the day, but something was wrong. Her eyes were closed, there were bruises on her swollen face and her throat had red blotchy marks strung around it like a string of pearls. I grabbed her shoulders; a lock of hair fell into her face. She looked at me with her closed eyes. "You have to get him Nicky."

Jesus. I sat up, the bed sheets tangled around my legs and feet. Stupidly, I patted the bed around me, checking. I was alone, it had been a dream. Still not convinced, I leaned forward, staring through the open bedroom door, still so sure that a yellow and white nursery would be there. I rubbed the heels of my palms against my eyes until I saw colored sparks, and then just sat there, for how long I don't know, in my bedjust to have a faint suggestion of that feeling back. I began to wish I'd made photocopies of the diary; all I wanted was to be close to Kelly's spirit. Instead, I got online and did a search for _The Thorn of the Rose_, one of those fairy tale books I found in Kelly's house. I looked at the clock; it was still too early to go to the lab, so I headed for the bookstore. I couldn't read what she wrote, but maybe by reading what she read, I could capshould be enough. I grunted, not finding my own stupid humor funny. With a deep sigh I stood and headed for the shower.

I took longest, hottest shower I've taken since that crap with Nigel Crane a couple of years ago. _He_ plagued my dreams for a long time, every night for over a year, but then, he wasn't a victim. I stood under the spray until the water ran cold, and even then stayed a few minutes longer, trying to find something, _anything_ to make me feel normal again. I was beginning to miss myself.

After making a pot of coffee and mostly ignoring a piece of toast, my mind drifted back to the dream, to the moments just before I turned around, when Kelly was pressed up against me, our daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib. In those few moments, everything was perfect, I felt complete, it was something I'd never experienced before, and I replayed those moments again and again just to have a faint suggestion of that feeling back. I began to wish I'd made photocopies of the diary; all I wanted was to be close to Kelly's spirit. Instead, I got online and did a search for _The Thorn of the Rose_, one of those fairy tale books I found in Kelly's house. I looked at the clock; it was still too early to go to the lab, so I headed for the bookstore. I couldn't read what she wrote, but maybe by reading what she read, I could capture _something_ of her.

I bought a latte at the coffee stand just inside the entrance doors of the bookstore. "Hey! You're usual?" Marie, the girl behind the counter greeted me, recognizing me from all the times I'd been in before. Coming in had become a weekly thing, sometimes two or three times a week. When I was still on nights, I'd stop in on my way home, not really needing or wanting the coffee, or whatever magazine I'd pick up as an excuse, but needing the friendly face, the ego boost of the flirtation.

"Yeah, please." I smiled, but not the full wattage beam I usually gave her, not the one that always got me a free cookie to go with my coffee.

"Just get off work?" She asked turning and pouring the coffee, steam drifted up from the hot liquid in thick bands that cooled and dissipated just before they floated by her face.

"Yeah." I lied, not wanting to go into the whole shift change; I missed working with my friends.

The machine began to whirl and she turned toward me a little. Popping a hand on one hip she tilted her head to one side, and I guessed she was wondering why I wasn't flirting, or even talking. "Been a long couple of days." I told her. She nodded almost imperceptibly and looked back to the machine.

I paid for the coffee, and as I shoved the change into my pocket, she slid a napkin with a chunky chocolate chip cookie lying on top of it toward me. When I glanced up at her questioningly, she said: "For catching all those bad guys." When she said 'bad guys' my mind flashed on the dream, I could actually feel Kelly against my back, her arm around me, and her cold fingers in mine. I smelled the diaper pail, and the baby powder. "Hey" Marie said. "Where'd you go?"

"Uh, just trying to remember the name of the author of the book I need to get." I lied again and picked up the coffee, setting the cookie on top of the lid, and lifted the structure up just a little toward her in a kind of salute. "Thanks for the cookie."

I didn't know where to start. Where the hell do you find fairy tales for adults? Certainly not in the kids' section, I bypassed it, leaving behind me a group of toddlers sitting cross-legged on the floor in a semi-circle listening to a woman named Martha read them a story about a turtle named Herbert.

Mystery section? No. Romance? Maybe, but I decided to check there as a last resort. Men don't exactly feel comfortable browsing an isle of books with bare-chested men gracing the covers. Then I saw it. The Sci-Fi / Fantasy section. I turned down the isle, found the authors last name, all three books were sitting there, and I snatched them and headed for the cash register.

At home again, I set the latte on the coffee table; the cookie lay abandoned and forgotten in the passenger seat of the truck. Settling back into the cushions of my couch, I opened the first book, _The Thorn of the Rose_ to the table of contents, the fourth tale listed caught my eye right away. _A Prince of a Frog._ Frogs. Had to be a connection.

I read the story quickly, devouring each word. In my mind I pictured the main character, the frog of course, as one of the one's I'd seen in Kelly's collection, a ceramic statue about three inches high, painted a shinny emerald green and wearing a golden crown dotted with red, blue and purple beads that were supposed to look like jewels. The plot of the story is inconsequential; a twist on the original version, instead of the frog turning in to a handsome prince with the princess' kiss, the girl turns into a frog, her true nature, and marries the frog prince. I read it a second time, slower, and half way through, I understood. The collection of frogs, the crowns, the fairy tales. She'd been waiting for her prince.

"Stokes." I said into my cell phone as I walked down the lab hall, headed to DNA to see if Mia had anything on the hairs from Kelly's pillow.

"Hey, it's Vega." He sounded tired, excited and pissed all at the same time.

"You find the ex-boyfriend?"

"Sort of. He's in Texas."

"Texas?"

"Yeah, I had a warrant for his house, based on the neighbors description of the car in front of the vics house, _and_ our girl had a TRO on him."

"She did?"

"Yeah. He wasn't home."

"On his way to Texas."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that when I put out the APB on his car. Texas State Police called about an hour ago, they found him sleeping in the back seat of his car on the side of the highway. They've got him in custody, we're working on logistics of bringing him back to Vegas."

I'd reached the DNA lab and was standing in the doorway. "Ok, call me when you've got him, and his car." I clicked my phone shut, and looked at Mia. "Got anything for me?"

"Yeah. DNA. Ran it through the system, got a hit." She searched through a pile of papers and lifted one out. "Harry Webber mean anything to you?"

"Yeah." I took the report from her. "It does. Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

I headed for Catherine's' office, but thought better of it half way there. That couch was just a little to comfortable, that is it's comfortable when I didn't have it hoisted up over my head trying to angle it around the sharp corners of the lab hallways, and I didn't have much more sleep under my belt today than I had yesterday. I was determined to get through the diary before Webber was brought back to Vegas. The break room should be emn the desk in front of her. I stopped when she called me and took two steps backward to the open doorway.

"Hey." I greeted.

"Where are you on your case, the uh. . ." she shifted the papers on her desk, "the strangled girl from yesterday."

"Kelly. Kelly Knight." I reminded her.

"Yeah. Find her boyfriend?"

"n the desk in front of her. I stopped when she called me and took two steps backward to the open doorway.

"Hey." I greeted.

"Where are you on your case, the uh. . ." she shifted the papers on her desk, "the strangled girl from yesterday."

"Kelly. Kelly Knight." I reminded her.

"Yeah. Find her boyfriend?"

"_Ex_ boyfriend. He hightailed it to Texas, he's in custody, Vega's working with the state police to bring him back."

"And the hairs?"

I nodded. "Belong to him. Mia made a match, his DNA was on file from two years ago a," I glanced down the report Mia gave me, making sure I told Catherine right. "assault case"

"Against the vic?" Catherine interrupted.

I shook my head. "No. A bar fight." I paused a moment. "He pulled a Mike Tyson and bit off part of a guys ear."

Catherine's face wrenched into a grimace. "Why isn't he in jail?"

"Had a good lawyer. Pled to a reduced charge, got probation."

She rolled her eyes, her face changing from a grimace of disgust about the ear biting to one of disgust over our justice system and the lawyers who navigate its twists and turns, like mice in a maze. Leaning back in her chair, she pushed her fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp like she suddenly had a headache. "Well, his hairs on her pillow don't prove that he killed her."

I nodded, agreeing with her. "I know. I've got her diary. . ."

Catherine cut me off "Her diary? You think she took a few moments as she was dying to flip though and jot down a dying declaration?"

I cleared my throat, swallowing my sudden resentment, and thought fast. What was I going to say? 'No Catherine, I want to read her diary to get to know this girl better, there's something fascinating about her, and I _have _to know'? No, that wouldn't fly well, not even with Catherine, who's always been cool, and knew things about me no one else on Earth does. "What I think is maybe there was a pattern of stalking, or maybe there was a new boyfriend; one we don't know about."

She thought about that for a moment, looking at me though narrowed eyes. "Want some help?"

"Nah." I tried to sound lighthearted and jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "I'll be in the break room if you need me."

"Ok." She said before bowing her head and returning to her paperwork.

Thankfully, the break room was empty. I grabbed the largest ceramic mug in the cabinet and poured it full of coffee. I debated with myself between sitting at the table and the couch that Sara and Greg had been sitting in the night before. With thoughts of this couch having the same effect on me as Catherine's sofa had last night, and putting me fast to sleep, I opted for the table, settling in and putting the book down on the tabletop in front of me where I stared at it for a few minutes, trying to figure out why my stomach was doing flip flops. With a deep breath of resignation, I opened it and began to read.

_**

* * *

**_

_**I'm sick and tired of being alone. I hate everyone who has someone who loves them. On nights that I can't sleep, and I get sick of tossing and turning, I go for long drives. Every house I pass, I pray, PRAY, that I could change lives with them. I'm mad at God for making me alone for so long. And then he doesn't answer my prayer, and I get even madder, and I hate myself for being mad. I try to remember that someday, some beautiful wonderful day that I can't even imagine, we'll find each other, and it'll all be worth the wait. I tell myself that there are people who are worse off than me, like those conjoined twins attached at the head, or the guy I saw on tv with a birthmark that covered half of his face. It helps a little, but I can't help but feel like I'm being punished for something.**_

* * *

****

_**I've been staring at this blank page for 10 minutes now. I just don't know what to write. Suzette says that I need to write something every night. So, here, I've written something.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Damn it! Why aren't you here yet? Why can't I find you?**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**I Long**_

_**I long for arms around me / **__**To feel safe / **__**And no longer alone / **__**I long for hands cupping my face / **__**To feel loved / **__**And no longer alone / **__**I long for lips on my lips / **__**To feel wanted / **__**And no longer alone / **__**I long for eyes piercing my eyes / **__**To feel seen / **__**And no longer alone / **__**I long for human contact / **__**To feel known / **__**And no longer alone**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Sometimes**_

_**Sometimes I can feel him / **__**From out there, somewhere / **__**And I think that he feels me too / **__**This connection seems so strong / **__**The promise of what will be / **__**Not of what might be / **__**Sometimes I can feel him / **__**As if he was here with me / **__**The miles between us / **__**Covered with hurdles from there to here / **__**Didn't exist**_

**_

* * *

_**

_**I met my friend Charlene at a diner this morning for breakfast. She needed to talk about some problems at work she's having, and her cell phone rings, and while she's on the phone, I start looking around. There were these three men sitting in a booth by the window, one of them, the one that got up to pay the check, he was just so beautiful. I hid behind my coffee cup, pretending to be looking at Charlene, but I was really watching him walk across the room to the register, and all I wanted was for him to turn around and see me. Oh God, I would have died if he had, but holy cow, if only he had!**_

****

"Nick!" Catherine's voice startled me, I jumped in the chair, and I looked up to her in the doorway, blinking a few times. "I've called you three times. Is the diary that . . ." I could tell she was searching her brain for the best non sexual harassment word, cognizant that she was now my boss. "Pleasant?" She asked with a little smirk.

I shook my head, as much to clear it as to answer her question, and laughed a little, hoping it sounded real. "No. Nothing like that. She wrote some poetry. . . she uh. . ." I flipped through the pages, looking for something else to tell her about. "She was," It was my turn to look for the right word "desperate."

"Desperate, huh?" Catherine walked up to the table and pulled the book over to her, fingering the pages, flipping through them. "Well," she looked up from the diary over to me. "Vega's got your suspect in interrogation, care to join them?"

"What? Already?" I looked at my watch. It was nearly 8pm, and I wondered briefly if I'd fallen asleep again, then I glanced at the diary, Catherine's attention was back on it, she'd picked it up, holding it in both hands, I realized I'd read about half of the diary without even realizing it. But I remembered every word.

Catherine looked up to me, her eyebrows raised. "Are you going?"

I twitched my head, "Yeah."

I went into the observation room first, not wanting to interrupt whatever Vega had going. When I first walked in, I thought Catherine had to be wrong, this must be a suspect in a different case. There was no way in hell that Kelly could have, would have, dated this guy. I listened for a moment.

"So then why'd you take off for Texas?" Vega was asking. The guy only shrugged in answer. "Oh, come on, you pack up half your crap and head for the border on a _whim_?"

"I knew you guys would think I did it." He whined.

Good God, I realized with a sickening feeling in my stomach, this _was_ the ex-boyfriend. He just wasn't what I had imagined at all. First of all, he was round. Round face, round belly that hung a little over his belt. And a mouth breather. His mouth hung open and only added another aspect of roundness to the whole picture. He was wearing glasses with thick black frames, and his nose was pinched up, like he was continually trying to keep the glasses on his face. It did not make for a pretty picture, this guy was no prince charming, what the hell did Kelly see in _him_?

"So tell me what happened." Vega relaxed a little, leaning back in his chair, like he was about to hear what promised to be a good story. Harry shrugged again, and Vega let out a deep, annoyed sigh, glancing toward the mirror I was behind. That was my cue.

I had the evidence bag in my hands, with the two hairs sealed inside. I also carried the case file from his barroom assault, and the report confirming the hairs as his. My heart was beating hard, so hard that I felt for sure Vega and Webber would hear it, and I slammed the interrogation room door behind me trying to mask the sound. Webber looked up, startled, Vega remained still, gazing at the suspect as if he'd known of my arrival all along. I glared hard at Harry, staring him down, and it worked, just seconds after I walked in, Harry's gaze was back on his hands folded in his lap. Vega, knowing Harry wouldn't catch it, glanced over his should to me, and raised his eyebrows _What the hell was that?_ I ignored him and slapped the case file and evidence bag onto the table in front of Harry. Again, he jumped in his seat, and stared at me, his eyes wide behind his thick glasses.

"Know what that is Harry?" I said his name with the teasing twang of a playground bully. I hadn't meant to, and it sounded foreign to my ears.

He shook his head, "No."

"It's proof that you killed Kelly."

He shook his head again, more emphatically. "No. No I didn't!"

I put my palms down on the tabletop and leaned in to him, my face inches from his. He reeked of stale cigarettes and sweat, layers of sweat, the kind you get from sitting in a car for hours, then having your ass hauled back by the cops. There was also the unmistakable stench of urine. I glanced down; a large U shape of discoloration was spread out around his crotch. He was breathing hard, his breath coming out in pungent waves through his gaping mouth. "I think you did kill her." I paused, letting my words hang in the stink heavy air between us. "See. . ." I straightened up and pulled the clear evidence bag over to me from where I'd slapped it down. I held the bag up in front of his eyes, showing him the contents. "These are you hairs. I found them on her pillow." My stomach lurched at the thought of this foul smelling creature being anywhere near Kelly's bed.

"She was already dead!" Tears filled his eyes, spilling over, leaving wet trails down his checks.

"This is your only chance man. Tell us what happened." Vega said from behind me, his chair squeaked as he sat up and leaned in, crossing his arms over each other on the tabletop.

Harry wiped his arms across his nose; a sheer stream of snot clung on, hanging in the air for a moment until it snapped in two. He took a deep breath "I went over to talk to her . . ."

Vega cut him off "She had a restraining order against you, that means your not supposed to go over there, to talk or anything else."

Harry jabbed a finger into the air, "That was a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?"

"Yeah. See, we worked together, and she, she was my friend. I told everyone she was my girlfriend, 'cause, well. . . I liked it that people thought she was." He looked up at me, "You wouldn't understand." He sniffled again.

"She wasn't your girlfriend?" I asked. He shook his head. Well, that explained a lot.

"Keep going." Vega urged.

"She was nice to me, she let me talk to her, and when I got fired a couple a months ago, well, I kept calling her, trying to get her to get them to let me have my job back."

"How often did you call her?"

"To often, I guess."

Vega opened the file in front of him and ran a finger down the page. "She's got it documented that you called eight to _fifteen_ times a day for the first few weeks." He looked up, glancing at me then at Harry "It only gets worse after that."

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged. "I wanted my job back, and . . . I liked talking to her. She was the only one who was nice to me. My mom said that nothing good would come of it; she said that Kelly was just a nasty whore. . ."

"Hey!" I objected, my fist clenched and unclenched, straining against the urge to beat the crap out of him.

"I know she wasn't." He said quickly. "I tried to kiss her once, and she didn't even laugh at me."

"What about your mom?" Vega had noticed something.

Harry shrugged, a gesture that was getting on my nerves. "Nothing, my mom just didn't like it when I told her Kelly was the one who thought I should get my own place."

"You lived with your mom?" I asked, incredulous, the guy had to be in his mid to late thirties.

He nodded, and hung his head again, staring at his hands in his lap. "When I told my mom I wanted to move out, she said that Kelly was. . ." he stopped and looked at me anxiously, not wanting to get yelled at again for repeating his mothers words. "Not a nice person. Kelly told me that I had to be a man, get my own place for my own good." He smiled then, and I guessed he was reliving the memory of Kelly referring to him as a man.

"Your mom didn't want you to move out." Vega said. It wasn't really a question, but Harry answered it anyway.

"No. She didn't. She was desperate for me to stay. Said she needed me, but she never lets me do anything expect take out the trash. She started showing up at my work, and when she kept doing it, even after I told her not to, that's when I got fired. That's why Kelly said she could maybe help me get my job back." He crunched his nose up, and pushed a finger at the nosepiece of his glasses.

"Kelly was going to help you get rehired?"

"Um-hmm. She said she was."

"Ok, so tell me how your hairs got next to a dead body."

Harry started to cry again, his chin quivering. I glanced over my shoulder to Vega; the look on his face said the same thing I was thinking: _Can you believe this guy? _

"Like I told you, she was already dead when I went in."

"What were you doing there?" Vega sounded as irritated with this wimp as I felt.

"I wanted her to take off the restraining order. When she didn't answer her door, I thought maybe she was in the shower or something, so I tried the knob, and it opened. The TV was on, loud, in her bedroom. I went back there, and that's when I saw her."

"She'd already been strangled?"

"Yeah." He muttered. "I went to her, and felt for a pulse, but no." His crying became jagged sobs, and he put his face in his hands.

Vega and I stared at each other for a moment, neither of us comfortable in the presence of a sobbing man. A short knock on the door was almost drowned out by the blubbering. Catherine cracked the door open, and stuck her head in. She stared at the hunched over suspect for a moment before saying "Uh, his _mother_ is here."

"Oh no!" Harry jumped up out of his seat. "Oh no! I was smoking, she's gonna _kill_ me!"

Catherine stared at him, dumbfounded. I watched as her eyes traveled down from Harry's puffy face, landing on the drying wet spot at his crotch. Her eyelids quickly fluttered shut, and she turned her head, suppressing an urge, either to laugh or cry, I'm not sure.

"You're free to go Mr. Webber." Vega told him, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Wringing his hands, Harry moved shyly past Catherine and through the door.

After a moment, Catherine said: "He's our killer?"

Vega and I looked at each other, gauging the others opinion. I shook my head. "A cry baby mommas boy who pisses his pants? No, I don't think he's our killer." My heart sunk as I said it.


	4. Chapter 4

Anger and frustration burned my stomach as I followed Catherine and Vega down the hall. I listened to their banter from two steps behind, my concentration centered on the diary in my left hand. I kept my arm down at my side, trying to convey a casual attitude about the book that was bumping against my leg with each step, coinciding with drumbeat of my blood as it rushed through my ears. My head hurt.

"So she wasn't his girlfriend?" Catherine asked.

"No. Guys a looser. I'm going to check with his employer, but my guess is that our vic was encouraging Mama's Boy to move out on his own, so Mama kept showing up at his work, got him fired."

"No job means no apartment." Catherine interjected.

"Yeah."

They stopped when they reached the doorway to Catherine's office. Vega pointed a thumb over his shoulder, "I'm gonna go interview the co-workers." He looked at me for a moment, trying to judge my state of mind. "You wanna go with?" His face told me he didn't want me along. Catherine noticed it too, and she began to scrutinize the look on my features.

I shook my head, watching something like relief dawn over Vegas face. "No. No, you go ahead." I forced a smile and nodded for some reason, agreeing with myself, maybe trying to assure him and Catherine both that I was ok. I didn't feel ok. Vega gave me a short nod of his own, a gestured that said _ok then_ and slid his eyes to Catherine. I saw the exchange, and Catherine lowered her eyes as a response to his unspoken concern. With another glance at me, Vega turned and made his way down the hall away from us.

"I'm ah…" I paused trying to think of a decent reason to get away from her analyzing gaze.

Catherine wasn't having it. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gestured with her head. "Come inside before you do that." She said as though I'd offered an itinerary of my day. Without waiting for a response, she walked inside her office. I had no choice, I followed her.

"Have a seat." She held out her hand toward the couch I'd fallen asleep on as she slid behind into the chair behind her desk. I shut the door behind me, and did as she asked, plopping down into the cushions, the overstuffed black material puffed out around me, surrounding me in a comforting embrace.

Catherine studied me for a long moment; I tried to keep my face neutral, stuffing my anxiousness down into my stomach. She cleared her throat. "I can read a calendar too" she said quietly.

I hadn't expected that, and caught by surprise, I lost the neutral look on my face. "What?"

"I had to pull the case file to be sure. . ." she opened the bottom desk drawer on her right, pulled out a light brown file folder and set it down in front of her, on top of all the other paperwork laid out on the desk. She flipped the file open, and looked at me. I couldn't help but stare at the paper lying on top, a pre-printed outline of a body, something we use for every case. Handwritten notes and arrows dotted the white paper; most of them concerned the neck of the victim. It could have been Kelly's file, but I knew it wasn't. It was Kristy's.

"Nicky." Catherine's voice broke though the mingled images of Kristy and Kelly that were running though my head, a slide show of snap shots, two broken women. I blinked, surprised to find tears in my eyes. "Nicky" she repeated, calling my name softly. I looked up, meeting her eyes. She tilted her head; compassion blanketed her features. I must have looked as pathetic as I felt because she muttered "Oh Nicky" as she stood up and came out from behind her desk. The sofa cushions shifted with her weight as she sat down next to me. I rubbed my eyes, drying the wetness and trying to stave off the exhaustion that had been hovering just behind my eyes for two days now. Sinking into the back cushions, I laid my head back and stared at the ceiling.

I felt Catherine's hand on my shoulder. "Tell me about Kelly." She said.

Lifting my head, I stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out what she'd said. "What?"

"I already know about Kristy. Tell me about Kelly." She glanced down at the diary I'd wedged between the arm of the sofa and my thigh. "You've read that, you've been to her house. Tell me about her."

I didn't know what to say. "I ah… I think I would have liked to have known her."

I told her all I knew, interspersed with my own opinions, I went so deeply into my own thoughts and mind, I felt as if I was actually at Kelly's side, watching her as she sat on her bed, writing in her diary. I heard the click of her teeth against the pen as she paused, searching for what she wanted to tell her diary. I could smell the soap she used, smelled the remnants of the dinner she'd made, I felt the air shift as she tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. When I finally stopped to take a breath, I was surprised to find myself in Catherine's office. I looked at her, my boss, my friend, my confidant. She had a look on her face that I couldn't decipher, a mix of horrid realization and a sympathy that stung me.

"What?"

Catherine shook her head, clearing away that look on her face. She blinked and licked her lips. "I think I have to remove you from the case." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, like she knew she was tearing my heart out of my chest.

"No." I protested, wishing I could take back the whine I heard in my own voice.

"Nick. . . you're. . ." her eyes moved back and forth, as if her choice of words was printed on the air in front of her "Involved." It wasn't what she wanted to say, I could tell, but I didn't push it, if 'involved' was her second choice; I didn't want to know what she was really thinking.

I swallowed hard, pushing my resentment down, it tasted exactly like bile. Controlling my voice, I objected again. "No, I'm not."

"Solving Kelly's murder isn't going to ease your guilt over Kristy."

I was dumbfounded. "I know that." Changing tactics I pointed my finger at her, jabbing the air. "If you want me off this case, you're gonna have to fire me." My mind flashed on when I was eight and threatened to run away from home when my mom wouldn't let me ride my bike to my friends house two blocks away.

I put my hands on my waist, ready to hand over my weapon and credentials that hung from my belt. I watched her search my face, so I took all the anger and frustration that I'd been swallowing and moved them into my eyes, steeling my resolve, knowing she'd see it. After a moment, she said "Alright. You stay on the case." I felt my body relax just a little when I exhaled. "But" It was her turn to point her finger at me. "I'm working it with you now. And if I see anything…" she let the word hang in the air, it was up to me to decide what 'anything' could mean. "Then I will take you off the case, no matter the consequences."


	5. Chapter 5

Catherine rolled down the window over on the passenger side; I think it was an attempt to relieve some of the tension in the cabin of the Tahoe by letting in some of the Vegas night air. It didn't work. I was still pissed she tried to take me off the case, and her disappointment in my unprofessional behavior radiated off of her and through her eyes as she stared out the window, watching the lights of Las Vegas morph into neon streaks as I drove through traffic.

"Damn it Nick!" She shrieked as I hit the breaks for a stoplight and she bounced against her seatbelt and braced her hand against the dash. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she flipped her head around, eyes boring into me. "Neither of us can solve the case if we're in traction from a car accident."

"Sorry." I did mean it, but it didn't sound like I did, even to me.

She settled back into the seat with a quiet huff and raked her fingers though her hair. The song from the radio in the car next to us drifted in through Catherine's open window, I looked over glaring at the inconsiderate driver, a teenage girl attempting to put lip gloss on her mouth while she laughed out loud at the antics of her friend in the back seat. Laughter and chatter from a group of tourists on the sidewalk caught my attention. Six men in business suits stood outside one of the cities classier strip joints, and seemed a little to… cheerful. What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, but not if your traveling with co-workers. One of the men punched another good-naturedly in the shoulder and the group erupted with laughter. It reminded me of us, the 'original' night shift, the way we used to be before Ecklie busted us up. My stomach turned with the memory, and I was suddenly fully aware of the annoyance floating off Catherine in waves.

A car behind us honked its horn, the light turned green again and I stepped on the gas pedal softly, coaxing the truck forward with the flow of traffic. A few blocks later, I couldn't stand the silence anymore; I wanted to make peace. "What, ah… what are you looking for back at the scene?" I asked it quietly, gently, making sure my tone was as far from defensive as possible.

She turned her head and stared at me a moment, I could tell she was considering everything about me, my voice, the expression on my face, my body language. I glanced over at her as traffic ahead of us slowed, and grinned at her, the best 'forgive me' grin I could muster. She rolled her eyes and turned her head back to watch the traffic before she spoke, using the same controlled tone that I had assumed. "I don't know Nicky." Tossing her hands in the air, she looked over at me again. "Look, don't get pissed off again, but you _are _to close to this…" she paused, weighing my reaction, I tightened my grip on the wheel, but tried to keep everything else neutral looking. "It's in your voice" she said simply.

I digested that as I slowed the Tahoe and stopped for another red light. "What is?"

She sighed heavily, there was a need for forgiveness in the movement of her shoulders. "I think" she was choosing her words carefully and she spoke slowly. "I think that you may care a little to much about the victim"

"Kelly." I corrected her.

"There. That. Just that." She swiveled in the seat and pointed a finger at me. "You care _to much_ about this particular victim." She released her folded fingers, and laid her hand on my arm. I could hear it in her voice that she was debating saying more. "She's dead Nicky. You can't save her." For some reason, my heart was beating hard. I wanted to throw up. The light changed, and I swallowed my protest as I stepped on the gas and flipped the turn signal, glancing quickly and changed lanes. I didn't want her to take me off the case, and I sure as hell didn't want to quit. We were silent the rest of the ride to Kelly's house.

* * *

I took my Swiss Army knife out of the breast pocket of my jacket, flipped open the blade and sliced though the crime scene tape plastered on the front door. The hinges creaked and the top of the door scraped roughly against the frame. _Need to fix that_ flashed though my mind as I glanced up and pushed harder on the door feeling it give way beneath my hands. I stepped back, letting Catherine pass by me and enter first. She stopped about three feet inside, setting her field kit down at her feet. I followed her in, closing the door behind me, and waited while she looked around, getting her bearings. The house was cool, and I could smell the stale pepperoni from the pizza I'd found, mixed in with White Diamonds and something dark and fruity that I could only attribute to Kelly's own personal smell, an unique combination of shampoo, soap and sweat. There was something comforting in the blend.

Catherine focused on the shelves and crossed the few feet to them with just a few steps. I was suddenly anxious about something I couldn't put my finger on, like she shouldn't be here. I put my hands on my waist, pushing my jacket back and watched as she picked up the ceramic frog that I had imagined when I read that story in one of the books I bought, _A Prince of a Frog_. She ran her thumb over it absent mindedly as she stretched her neck looking at the rest of the collection displayed on the shelves. I fought the urge to admonish her for holding it so loosely.

"Wow." She muttered under her breath. She turned to me and I saw something like new understanding in her eyes. "Hell of a lot of frogs."

"Yeah." I stepped up next to her and casually held out my hand, instinctively she handed me the frog. My fingers wound tightly around it as I pointed with my free hand and said, "The body was back here."

I felt like a trainee again as I set my case down at the bedroom threshold, and watched Catherine take a preliminary walk around. My hands virtually twitched for something to do, so I shoved them in my pants pockets to still them. Finally sick of me just standing there, she sent me into the bathroom to dust for prints as she re-examined the crime scene. I gained new respect for Greg, and vowed not to dump the crap jobs on him again. At least not all of them anyway.

Dipping the brush into the black finger print powder, I ran the bristles over the handles of the bathroom sink, flicking my wrist in light back and forth motions, not really believing I'd find anything but Kelly's prints. There's no blood in strangulation, her killer would have had no reason to stick around and wash his hands.

The smell that had hit me at the front door was stronger in the bathroom, minus the pepperoni. My hand stopped it's rhythmic movement, the brush hung motionless in the air. Glancing up into the mirror, I saw her. Kelly. Standing behind me, she piled her hair up on her head, and held it there with one hand. I watched her watch herself as she turned from side to side, evaluating herself for a moment. She struck several model like poses before she stopped and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She giggled at herself, her eyes shining. Her laughter was contagious and I laughed out loud. Catherine's face appeared in the mirror over and somehow though Kelly's for a brief moment, then Kelly was gone. "What's funny?" Catherine asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Ah, I was just thinking about Greg, and how if he were here, he'd be doing this rookie stuff." It wasn't exactly a lie. I set my wrist and brush back into motion.

I watched her reflected face relax back into its natural state. "Oh. Ok." She lifted her chin just a little, "You find anything?"

I nodded as a partial print emerged under the black powder. I pressed a tape lift against the half moon shape lifting the print. "Yeah, a partial. I'll check it against Kel…the victims." I avoided her eyes by I slipping the print into an envelope and then into my kit. "Did _you _find anything?"

She nodded once. "Yeah. I did." She held up a clear plastic bag, the word 'evidence' was written across a red band in bold black letters. Nestled in the bottom corner of the bag was something tiny, white and almost square shaped. "A tooth. Behind the bedroom door; almost worked itself underneath the edge of the carpet." I kept my head hung, feigning interest in the organization of my field kit. "I wouldn't have even looked there, expect I knew that I had to look twice as hard to find anything you might have missed." Her voice was confident, normal. She wasn't pacifying me.

I nodded still looking at my kit. When I did look up and met her eyes a moment later, she had a small smile plastered on her face. "Thanks Catherine."

The ride back was quiet again, but there was no tension in the air. I felt my body sink into the passenger seat, Catherine had been adamant about driving, and I hadn't put up much of a protest. I attributed her silence to the same exhaustion that I was feeling myself. My legs and arms were heavier than I'd ever remembered them being, I thought back in my head, trying to remember the last decent sleep I'd gotten. I grunted as I realized that I didn't know when that had been. I don't think I'd gone this long without sleeping since Nigel. I shook my head, clearing his image out of my brain. Don't go down that road right now Nicky-boy. I took a deep, cleansing breath, and let my eyes slowly close, and as I did, I saw Catherine steal a worried glance over at me. The vibration of the truck was lulling, the air from the heater surrounded me, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth. My body relaxed even more. I knew I was falling asleep, and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I felt her arm snake around my chest, the weight of her head on my shoulder lifting at the same time. I opened my eyes to find her grinning at me; the smile grew wider as my eyes opened. "Good morning."

I ran my tongue over my teeth. "Morning Sleeping Beauty." My throat was dry, my voice coming out scoured.

"Me?" She pulled herself on top of me, straddling my waist. "I've been awake for almost an hour, while you," she poked a finger at me "have been the Sleeping Beauty."

"Can't help it." I ran my fingers down her thighs. "You've got a comfortable bed. I'm very relaxed."

She cocked an eyebrow at me, the corners of her mouth twitched. "Relaxed?" She sniggered and wiggled her hips a little. "Relaxed is not exactly the word I would use."

"Really?" I reached up to her shoulders and pulled her down to me. "What word would you use?"

Catherine's hand was on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, Kelly's giggles still in my ears. "Hey" Catherine said quietly. I blinked, confused by darkness surrounding the truck. The lab's parking lot was engulfed in streetlights that flooded the pavement with illumination. The lack of light made it difficult to see where we were. I looked through the windshield, a familiarity coming over me, but the darkness, my lack of alertness, and the suddenness of being ripped from a dream, kept me from digesting the information I could gather. "I brought you home." Catherine said quietly. I looked at her dumbfounded. "You're in no condition to work right now, you obviously need sleep."

"But…" I started to protest. She stopped me by raising her hand.

"No. No arguments. Go to bed." I'd already sympathized with Greg earlier, and now I knew how Lindsay felt. It had been an enlightening night. "Go. Sleep." She made a shooing motion with her hands, and I reluctantly gave in and pushed the door open.


	6. Chapter 6

The truck was backing out of the driveway as I reached into my pocket fishing for my keys, but my fingertips brushed up against something else. Puzzled, I wrapped my fingers around it, and as soon as I did, I knew what it was, even before it was in front of my eyes. The ceramic frog that I'd taken from Catherine back at Kelly's house. I must have slipped into my pocket while I was standing there watching her rework my scene. I took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

I flipped on the light and slid out of my jacket as I looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings. Nigel's face flashed through my mind again, and I took a closer look, checking for anything even a millimeter out of place; any sign that someone had been here while I was out. For the better part of a year after Nigel's attack, I would spend hours each morning when I got home searching through every room for anything even slightly out of place.

Satisfied that I was alone, I tossed my jacket onto the couch and headed to the kitchen, my fist clutching around the frog. The blinking light on the answering machine caught my eye, and I changed course to the desk and punched the button before continuing on. My mothers voice filled the air as I pulled a beer from the fridge.

"Hi Son. We haven't heard from you in a few weeks, just wanted to check in with you. Everything ok?" The cold liquid washed over my tongue and the back of my throat, I felt the chill slide down until it hit my empty stomach with a splash. It didn't ease the guilt settling there. "Your dad and I were wondering when your next vacation is, we thought maybe you'd come home to visit this year."

I took a second tug from the bottle and flopped down on the couch, picking up the remote, holding it in my hand, ready for when the message ended. I stared at the frog as I listened. "I'm going over to Stephanie's house tomorrow, baby sit for a few hours. Oh, you should see your nephew; he's got two teeth and learning how to crawl." She paused and I heard the crack in her voice when she spoke again. "We miss you Nicky. Call me tomorrow, please." I heard the click of her hanging up, then a few seconds of silence before the answering machine beeped, its way of telling me there were no other messages. I licked my lips and raised the bottle to them, taking two long swallows. My stomach churned, the beer sloshing around, swimming with the guilt rather than drowning it.

With a deep breath, I turned on the television, flipping though the channels. Images dashed across the screen like some bad 60's movie. I settled on the news. The weather girl was dressed in goulashes and a bright yellow rain jacket, she was finishing up her report, but I gathered that it was supposed to rain. The camera went back to the anchor desk, and an anchorman with Ken doll hair switched his face from amusement at the weather girl's get-up to suddenly serious, and began telling the audience about the days developments in the trail of a cocktail waitress murderer that I knew Warrick would be testifying at in the next few days. The story ended and the blonde female anchor's face filled the screen. "Shocking news from the business district tonight. Media mogul Patterson Tate was found dead in his corporate boardroom. Here's Trisha Arnold with the story." They cut to another blonde reporter, standing across the street from a large office building, she was bundled up in a camel hair coat, one hand holding a microphone, the other on her head, trying to keep her hair from blowing in her face. In the background, I saw the black Tahoe parked amid the police cars, and as I watched, Grissom appeared from behind the truck, it looked like he was headed to the drivers seat. My attention was fully on Grissom as he turned back around toward the tail end of the Tahoe, then Sara and Greg emerged into view. I watched my friends gather at the side of the vehicle and I could just imagine Grissom spurting out orders, things they already knew to do. Sara had her arms wrapped around her chest and bounced on her toes a few times, she looked cold. The group broke up heading in different directions. "Las Vegas Crime Lab Assistant Director Conrad Ecklie spoke with us moments ago," the reporter was saying. I focused my attention back onto the reporter just as Ecklie's face filled the screen.

"Bleck." I made a noise of disgust and changed the channel. A Law and Order rerun, forensic reenactment shows, an E True Hollywood Story about the latest celebrity criminal. I tossed the remote down onto the couch next to me and downed the rest of the beer in long gulps, got myself another, and continued to channel surf, bypassing a home improvement show, the cooking show, not even ESPN had anything worth watching, so I finally settled on a Cary Grant movie.

I had no idea what movie it was, or even the plot, but I watched Cary smoothly work his way into the girls' heart. And her arms. I looked down at the frog again for a moment before I set him carefully down onto the coffee table. The beer was warm in my stomach, the alcohol flowed through my body, and I was once again surrendering to the day's tolls. My eyes grew heavy, and my grip loosened, I felt the bottle slip from my fingers, settling next to my thigh. My neck felt like it was made of jell-o, my head fell back against the couch.

The door squeaked against the frame when she opened it. "Hey." She said even before the door was fully open. Her hair was tussled, and she gave me a small, embarrassed smile as she raked her hands though it, tucking it behind her ears. 

"I woke you. I'm sorry." I was a little self-conscious myself, surprised at my own joy of seeing her.

She stepped back, letting me in through the open door. "You could tell that by my lovely pajamas, couldn't you?" She teased and tugged at the sweat pants she was wearing. They, and the sweatshirt she had on concealed her body, buried her curves.

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip as I took in the sight of her and shrugged. "That's what happens when you date an investigator; we notice everything."

Her eyes widened, panic crept into them. "Did we have a date for breakfast?" She spoke quickly, rushing past me toward the bathroom. "I can be ready in just a minute."

"Hey, hey, Kelly." I grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. I shook my head and looked at the floor for a moment, trying to trying to hide a smile and failing. I looked back up to her confused face. "No. We didn't have a breakfast date." I took a deep breath and licked my lips. "I just wanted to see you."

Her face softened, and for a moment, I was terrified that she was about to cry. Her lips twitched into a smile. "Oh" she said softly, tilting her head. "Would you like some coffee?" She was already moving toward the kitchen, I grabbed her arm again.

"No. I don't want any coffee." I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her. She draped one arm around my shoulders, and folded the other next to us, placing her hand on my chest, smiling up at me, and I thought for sure she could feel how fast my heart was beating.

"Oh." She said gently, her lips forming into an inviting arc. Her mouth was slick against mine when I kissed her; she tasted like warm summer berries and red wine. I ran my hand up her back, pulling her shirt away from her skin. She had on a lacey camisole on underneath, it was silky against my palm, and I pulled her in tighter to me.

Bright morning light shined through my living room windows, hitting me in the face, turning the inside of my eyelids a translucent orange. I woke up with a sigh, keeping my eyes closed, fighting to keep the dream with me. I couldn't remember exactly what I'd dreamed, but I did know it left me encased in tender warmth, and I didn't want to leave it. I heard a brass honking noise coming from the television, curiosity made me open my eyes. The Marx Brothers had replaced the long gone Cary Grant movie.

Sitting up with a groan that reminded me of my father, the muscles in my back protested, my spine audibly cracking. I rubbed my neck, still trying to recall the dream even as it slipped away from me.

I fumbled around for the remote and clicked off the tv. I hadn't moved during the night and my beer sat half full, wedged between my thigh and the arm of the sofa. Grabbing it before it did spill, I slid it on the coffee table. The digital clock on the entertainment unit said 6:21 in big red numbers. I still had several hours before I had to get back to work, so I headed down the hall, peeling off my clothes as I went, and crawled into bed, yearning for the dream to return.

The alarm went off at noon; I reached out slapping it into silence. I felt hung over, groggy from to much sleep, no matter how badly I might have needed it. Swinging my feet onto the floor, all I wanted was a hot shower.

The muscles in my back had just started to unwind when I heard my cell phone ringing. With a groan I shut off the water and hopped out, wrapping a towel around me as I followed the trial of clothes down the hall like some erotic version of Hansel and Grettel. My jeans were halfway down the hall. I found the ringing phone still attached to the belt.

"Stokes." I croaked into the phone.

"Hey." I could practically hear Catherine's eyebrows rise. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Yeah. Too much. What's up?"

"The parents are here."

For a moment, I thought she meant my parents. "Who's where?"

"The parents. Kelly's parents are in Vegas to claim her body."

I felt chill and numb at the same time. Her parents. My mind brought up the photo I found of them; it felt like an eternity ago.

"Nick? Still there?"

I blinked. "Yeah."

"I'm about ten minutes away from your place. Give you enough time?"

"Yeah. I'll be ready. See you in ten." I was already grabbing the rest of the trial of clothes off the floor and headed to my bedroom.

Twelve minutes later I was standing in my driveway. I didn't have time to shave and I ran my hand over my cheek, the stubble scratchy under my palm. _Better avoid Ecklie_ I thought to myself as the Tahoe pulled into the drive.

"Mornin'." Catherine's smile was bright as I slid into the seat and pulled the seatbelt around me. She handed me a cardboard cup of coffee, the steam seeping out from underneath the lid.

I felt her scrutiny as I thanked her and took the coffee. My stomach sank as I suddenly remembered the pilfered frog; just before walking out the door I'd moved it from the coffee table into my bedroom, where it sat now, on the bedside table, next to the alarm clock. Could she know I'd taken it? Accidental or not, my guilt churned. I sipped the coffee she handed me, and met her gaze. "Hey." I forced my voice to be steady, and smiled my most charming smile.

"You look rested. Expect for this." She ran the back of her fingers lightly over my days growth of beard.

I snorted. "Yeah. Well, that's what happens when the boss calls from ten minutes away."

She slid the gearshift into reverse and began to back down to the street. "Yeah. Well. Try to avoid Ecklie, would ya?"

I drained the last of the coffee as I reached the door that led into the lab and its habit trail like corridors that would take us to the morgue and Kelly's parents. Dropping the cardboard cup into the trashcan with one hand, I held the door open for Catherine with the other. She thanked me and flashed me a smile as she breezed by.

I still haven't adjusted to the lab during the day. Day shift staff, while always recognizable for a nod hello, I probably wouldn't recognize them outside of the lab walls. And I still didn't know most of their names; the anecdotes Sofia would sometimes tell in between sips of coffee were always peppered with my interrupting her with questions of 'which one are they?' And only her answering with a vague description of a former day shift co-worker 'Tall guy, glasses' 'Short blonde hair, wide hips' could tell me which one she was talking about.

We stopped at DNA; I waited in the hall as Catherine checked on the tooth she turned in last night after dropping me off at home. Through the glass wall, I saw the lab tech - what's her name again? – shrug and shake her head, the tooth hadn't been processed yet. As Catherine listened to the explanation, I glanced around me, wondering what it was that made this place feel so different during the day, save for the lack of the people I thought of as my co-workers. I hadn't figured it out yet when Catherine bounded out and gave me a shrug of her own. "With in the hour. She thinks."

The absence of Greg's music boomed throughout the halls, like a consuming void and in the encasing silence, Catherine's heels clicked on the tile floor, throwing echoes up and around us. It's a decidedly female sound, and I focused on it, unconsciously matching my own steps to hers, losing my self in the rhythm.

We turned the final corner before I even realized we were approaching it. The click of Catherine's heels stopped suddenly, replaced by the sound of a grieving mother. Wet gulps of air were quickly followed by shuddering exhales. I recognized her immediately from the photograph in Kelly's house. Her face was inflamed from the effects of her anguish, the bright smile from that celebratory night had been banished. She was sitting on a bench, across from the double doors that lead into the morgue, and her dead daughter. Her back was bent, as if she was physically carrying her emotional load, her hands grasped together in her lap, tearing a tissue into small jagged pieces. Her breathing hitched and became quiet as Doc Robbins bent down and murmured something to her that I couldn't make out.

Next to me, Catherine took a deep silent breath, her shoulders rose and fell, and for just that instant, I could read her mind. _There but for the Grace of God_. With a glance to me, she began the short journey down the hall, toward Kelly's mother, her heels clicking.

I watched as Catherine slid down onto the bench, trying to offer comfort and gain answers at the same time. I've never felt comfortable being around a grieving family member, and mothers always seemed to hit me the hardest. I glanced at the double doors that Kelly was behind, laid out on a cold metal table. I knew they'd soon be getting her ready, slipping her into one of those black bags, pulling the zipper closed, sealing her away. I needed to see her before that happened.

With Catherine and Robbins focused on Mrs. Knight, I knew this would be my only chance to slip in unnoticed. My heart pounded against my chest, like it was trying to get out. I kept my eye on my supervisor as I took the few steps toward the doors, then pushed the left one open, my palm flat on the door.

I stopped just inside the door, and held my hand out behind me, stopping the motion of the swinging door. The morgue was colder than I could ever remember it being. Kelly was lying on the table; a baby blue synthetic sheet covered her from just under her armpits to her knees. As I took the steps that brought me to her, I wondered if, when reading her fairy tales, she had ever imagined herself Snow White, after the poisoned apple, sleeping until her prince awoke her with a kiss.

I stood above her, staring down at her inert face, almost expecting her eyes to open, for her to smile up at me. Reaching up, I lightly passed my fingers over the hair on the top of her head, my thumb briefly rested on her forehead. I felt vacant.

"She was a pretty girl, wasn't she?" A strained male voice spoke from behind me. I jumped, and turned toward the speaker. "Sorry." Kelly's father approached from the corner of the room. "I didn't mean to startle you." He shoved his hands in his pockets as he shuffled up next to me. "It's a strange feeling." He stared at Kelly's face as he spoke. "When your child … dies. Can't stand to be in the room with her body, and yet" his eyes pooled as he spoke, tears making his eyes glint and sparkle in a way that I imagined they once did out of pride and love for Kelly. "I can't seem to leave her alone either."

I cleared my throat, swallowing the frog that had settled there. "Mr. Knight, I …" he cut me off.

He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. "You a cop?"

"Crime scene investigator." I answered. "Mr. Knight" I began again, wondering, even as the words left my lips, what the hell I was going to say, "We're going to find out who did this to your daughter."

He nodded again, turned and took a step away, our shoulders almost touching. He glanced back, taking one last look at his daughter. With a sigh, he turned away from her and placed a brawny hand on my shoulder, as if giving himself a push. "Yeah" he said as he headed for the door, "she always was a pretty girl."

I waited for Catherine in her office, on the edge of the couch, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.

"Hey." She said quietly from the doorway, something in her voice, something that sounded suspiciously like pity, made me wonder how long she'd been standing there, watching me. I lifted my head, blinking to focus my eyes, Catherine perched herself on the front edge of her desk. She looked at me for a moment before wagging the folder in her hands. The air in the office stirred, a slight breeze caressed my face, stinging my already to dry eyes. "DNA report on the tooth." She handed me the folder.

I took it from her, watching her eyes watching me. There was something odd about her stare. "Anything probative?" I didn't open the folder.

"Yeah." She pushed herself back further on to the desk and crossed her legs. "Seven markers in common."

"With who?" I asked tearing open the folder and answering my own question. I looked back up at her, somewhat shocked, but not really surprised.


	7. Chapter 7

We let her sit and stew in the interrogation room. Catherine and I watched her from behind the glass. She sat with her ankles hooked together, her back ramrod straight, a severe looking black purse that looked like something my grandmother used to carry, the kind with a snap closure, clutched in her lap. A thin sheen of sweat shined off her forehead and she patted herself dry with a dingy handkerchief she'd pulled out from her purse. Squaring her shoulders, she settled back into the chair, her face set with an anger that grew by the second. She stared at the door; as if she was willing it to open, mentally challenging anyone who may be on the other side to walk through it, face her wrath.

She looked quite a lot like her son. Or rather, he looked like her I suppose; they shared the same roundness of features. She didn't breathe through her mouth in sloppy gulps like her son does; she held her mouth in a tight orange-red lipsticked thin line. A cluster of tiny black moles dotted the crater of her left cheek, and just above them, the yellowish green of a fading bruise.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, and cleared her throat, fidgeting a little. "That's my cue." Catherine almost whispered as she turned toward the door. I moved to follow her out, and she stopped in her tracks, and held out a hand, as if she was going to push me backwards. Her eyes searched mine, and I don't know what she was looking for, or if she found it, but after a moment she seemed to give in to her inner debate, and shrugged outwardly, moving her hand away and continuing though the door.

A uniformed officer stood outside the interrogation room door, and pushed it open for Catherine. "Mrs. Webber." Catherine said in her pleasant voice and moved the corners of her mouth a little into something that almost resembled a smile.

The round woman would have none of it, and launched into a tirade before I had the door shut behind me. "What is this? You call me in the middle of my shows, tell me there's something wrong with my sons release paperwork, I shlep down here, and you keep me waiting for an hour? What the hell is going on?" If she hadn't opened her mouth so wide, neither Catherine nor I would have been able to see the gap of black in her upper tooth line, just below the vanishing bruise. But because she was such a boisterous woman, one who used her whole mouth to speak, there it was, plain as day. DNA was enough, but there was something satisfying about seeing the

hole of a missing tooth in that large hole of a mouth.

Catherine pulled out the chair opposite Mrs. Webber and slid herself in to it. She watched me as I circled around behind the woman and leaned up against the wall. Moving her eyes back to the suspect we both knew was a murderer, Catherine used her not so pleasant voice.

"Must have been quite a shiner, how'd you get it?"

The woman was taken aback; she hadn't expected any questions about herself. "Wha…? My son. My son hit me when I brought him home the other night. You people worked him into a frenzy, and I'm…I'm gonna sue."

Catherine's smile was genuine this time. She was amused by the explanation. The grin dropped from her lips and she shook her head slowly. "I don't think so."

"No. No, that's exactly what happened…"

"First place, you've got your son so pussy whipped there's no way he'd ever raise a hand to his Mommy. And secondly…" Catherine saw me move, and she stopped speaking while I leaned in to whisper in Mrs. Webbers ear.

"Secondly, you're son is so screwed up that if he ever did find the balls and hit you, he wouldn't stop at just once." She froze when she felt me so close to her, her knuckles whitened in her death grip on her purse. She had the cobwebby sent of an old woman, but she couldn't have been much over sixty. She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something, but must have thought better of it, as she snapped it closed.

"Is that when you lost your tooth?" Catherine asked. "When you were punched, by…whoever?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Catherine almost laughed out loud, and put her fingertips to her forehead for a moment. "You're missing tooth. Well. Not so missing…" she paused dramatically. "We found it for you."

"This was knocked out years ago."

"That can't be true." I leaned in again, breathing in the haunted house stench of her. "See, gums turn grey after a few months" I was making it up, and hoping she knew nothing about dentistry. "This" I tapped my finger on her cheek, it felt spongy "is pretty fresh, still pink." I was so close to her, I heard her swallow.

"My son did it. When he hit me. I just didn't want you to arrest him again."

"You really need to make up your mind Mrs. Webber. Either you're going to press charges and sue the department for getting him riled, or you're going to cover his ass. But we both know you're not going to do that because he didn't hit you." I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, still leaning in toward her, letting my face be as menacing as it wanted to be.

"You didn't ask where we found your tooth. Aren't you curious?" Catherine slid the plastic evidence bag across the table. The older woman shook her head. "We found it at a crime scene." The round woman's eyes grew round themselves as she started at the enamel rectangle incased in the bag.

"We found it in the bedroom of a woman who your son had a crush on. An innocent woman who is now dead." I breathed the words hard at her. She tried to get up from her chair; I put a hand on her arm, tethering her down.

"Innocent? HA. That tramp…" my fingers tightened on her arm for just a second before I forced them to loosen enough to where I could move my hand away. Four cherry bands blazed across her skin where my fingers had been. She stopped talking long enough to look at her arm, then to glare at me for a moment. I met her gaze with a stare of my own. She backed down quickly, moving her eyes to Catherine. "She wasn't innocent. Enticing my Harry, trying to get him away from me…"

"He's over thirty years old, don't you think it's about time he got away from you?" Catherine asked, good mother to awful mother.

She shook her head emphatically. "No. I'm…sick. I need Harry with me."

"So you go over to Ms. Knights house…" Catherine began the story.

"Just to talk to her. She was ruining my sons life, got him fired from his job; had a restraining order against him."

"You got him fired. The TRO was because HE was harassing HER." I bit my words off.

She stared at me out of the corner of her eye and lifted her chin before she went on. "Wasn't my fault he lost his job."

"Wasn't the victims vault." Catherine said as she leaned in to the table. _Kelly_ I started to correct her, but swallowed the name before it could leave my mouth. It stuck in my throat like…like a frog. I thought about the ceramic frog sitting on my bedside table, a wave of guilt washed over me, I sat back in the chair heavily.

"She tried to help your son." Catherine paused, measuring her words. "And you killed her."

Kelly's killer mopped her brow with her antiquated handkerchief. She shook her head slowly. "It was self defense… She hit me."

"She hit you while you were strangling her. SHE was trying to defend herself."

"You can't prove that." Her voice was somehow meek and forceful at the same time.

"Yes. Actually, we can." Catherine flipped open a manila folder and flipped it around. The top page was the same body outline that she'd presented with me the day before. If not Kelly's name printed at the top, I wouldn't have been able to tell if it was Kristi's file or Kelly's. "We pulled skin samples off of the victims neck." Catherine slid her gaze over to me, I hadn't done that, and she admonished me with her eyes. "I also scrapped under her finger nails." She said it more to me than to the suspect. Catherine flipped the page in the folder revealing the lab results on the next page. The word MATCH dominated the paper.

Mrs. Webber leaned in, as if being closer to the page would make what was undoubtedly mumbo-jumbo to her clear. After a moment she looked up to Catherine. "What does this mean?"

"It means…" I stood up and nodded to the officer standing in the corner "that you're under arrest."

* * *

Catherine dropped me of at home a few hours later. She hadn't mentioned my mistakes, and I was grateful. I chalked up my errors as lack of sleep and assured myself it wasn't going to happen again. We'd watched the woman who murdered Kelly shuffle down the hall, screaming obscenities and thrashing enough that it took two cops to steady her. She'd brought Harry to the station with her, and he stood now seeing his mother in handcuffs for killing the woman he cared about. There was an odd blend of horror and relief on his face. And something else; I couldn't just quite put my finger on. 

I unlocked my door, noticing that Catherine had already pulled the truck out of my driveway and was halfway down the block before I'd made it to my front door. There was still some daylight left, and she was off to spend time with Lindsay. Dragging myself inside, I tossed my jacket on to the couch and stripped of my shirt heading to the bedroom, wanting only sleep, regardless of the remaining daylight. I needed to feel nothing for a while.

I let my shirt drop out of my hand at the threshold, and crawled into bed. My head swam with images I didn't want. Recollections of Kristi at that boutique, outside the casino, in my arms; the pictures from Kelly bookshelves intermingled, and they all became a swirling kaleidoscope; two beautiful brunette girls, both now dead. The dead body outline sheets of paper, wounds of ink doting the paper doll like images floated though my mind, intruding on the smiling women. Kristi in her coffin, Kelly on Robbins table. _Enough_ I sat up in bed and dug the heels of my hands in to my eyes, erasing the images. With a deep sigh, I gave up on the idea of sleeping for a while. When I opened my eyes, they landed on the frog sitting there on my nightstand. I picked him up, cradling him in my hands, and suddenly I knew what Harry had been feeling at the station, the elusive something in his face that I couldn't put my finger on. Crushed.

* * *

_Prelude_

_The waitress slid the check down on the table between Grissom and me. I picked it up and quickly glanced down at it. "I got this, it's the kind of money I'm pulling down now." Sliding out of the booth, I left Warrick and Grissom behind me._

_An old man was already at the register, arguing with the cashier about the price of coffee, and the amount of his senior citizens discount. I pulled a toothpick out of the dispenser and stuck it in between my teeth, chewing on it as I chewed on the day's events. I was suddenly working for Catherine; Grissom broke the news to Warrick and I, and then invited us to breakfast. _

_The cashier looked past the argumentative old man at me, and shrugged in apology. I gave her half a smile of understanding before I closed my eyes and forced myself to relax. Two deep breaths later, I felt someone's eyes on me. I turned back toward the table; Warrick and Grissom were deep in conversation. Glancing around me, I tried to find the source of the feeling. Besides an old woman who was probably the wife of the complainer in front of me, there were only two other women in the place, one, who's back to me, was on her cell phone, talking animatedly, probably to her boyfriend I guessed. The other woman who sat across from her companion, she was the one looking at me. She was trying to hide behind her coffee cup, but it didn't hide much. Alarms starting going off in my head like a World War II submarine: _Pretty girl, straight ahead_. Just before she shyly averted her gaze, I locked eyes with her for a millisecond, something about her felt familiar, like she looked like someone I'd known before. With her eyes off me, and staring at the tabletop, I was able to give her a better glance over than I would have dared if she'd been still staring at me. A thick lock of hair had fallen in to her half closed eyes, and I had an incredible urge to brush it away from her face. It was the oddest feeling, being so fascinated by a single lock of hair. I laughed at myself, looking toward the floor, and debated going over there when the cashier got my attention. "Sir?" I turned at her voice; the old man was toddling out the door. I pulled out my wallet to pay the bill._

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. _

_Many, many, many Thanks to **Kristen999** for all your help and inspiring ideas._

_**Lifeguard and Victoria87: **Very sweet of you to keep coming back. I hope the ending didn't disappoint._

_**Krysalys73: **I didn't forget the trace on her neck or the nail scrapings, but _Nick _did. Thanks for your comments, all were appreciated._

_Sunset_


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